Destiel Oneshots

My Favorite Maybe

Summary: Dean deals with the aftermath of Castiel's suicide. (Continuation of my first one-shot "Pain".)

A/N: Bring tissues. Seriously. Like, all of them.

Warm sunlight filtered in through the kitchen windows, filling the room with a soft golden hue. Birds chirped outside in perfect harmony. Their airy tune danced across the breeze and through the thin branches of dogwood trees. It was the beginning of spring, and the flowers were just beginning to bloom. They stretched their petals upwards, reaching to the sky until they could almost touch the sun.

Dean's favorite tree had always been the cherry blossom. The vibrant pink colors and soft leaves made it one of the most beautiful works of nature he had been lucky to come across. One night, sitting gout on Bobby's porch with a case of beers and the stars, Cas had asked Dean why he chose to love the cherry blossoms so much if they were so fleeting. He had looked the former angel straight in his eyes, eyes that shone brighter than the constellations above them, and told him that the evanescence of the beautiful flowers did not scare him, but merely made him want to savor the beauty even more.

Dean had felt the smaller man catch his breath, his chest stilling against Dean's own from the sheer intensity of his gaze. It was only then that Dean realized they had been inching closer to each other across the porch swing all night. His gaze had darted down to Cas' lips, lips that were only a few mere inches away from his, then back up to his eyes like oceans. 

Looking back, Dean couldn't imagine where he would be then if he had only kissed Castiel that night.

Two toned arms sliding around his waist from behind pulled Dean gently out of his musings and memories. He leaned his bare back against an equally bare chest, melting into the familiar warmth and comforting scent. "Hey," he muttered quietly.

"Morning." Cas' voice was always gruff, but even more so in the mornings. He had developed the habit of sleeping in later than Dean ever since his nightmares went away. 

Dean wasn't complaining; it meant he had the chance to watch his lover sleeping in the mornings, when his face was slack and calm, his brow free from any crease. Sometimes he would mutter fragmented phrases, his pale lips halfheartedly forming the syllables. If Dean woke up at just the right time, the morning sun would be filtering perfectly through their bedroom window, turning the angel golden, casting around him more of a halo than he ever had before.

"There's coffee in the pot. The eggs should be ready soon," Dean instructed gently. 

Castiel didn't move, but instead tightened his hold on the taller hunter gently. He pressed his forehead against Dean's tanned neck, which was warm from the summer air filtering into their small cabin through the open windows. Finally, Cas pulled away and went to fix them both mugs of coffee and plates of eggs as soon as Dean was ready to take them off the stove.

They sat down together at their wooden table. Bright pink flowers sat in a ceramic vase as the centerpiece and wind-chimes tinkled gently from outside. Dean studied the weather carefully as they ate in companionable silence. It looked like a clear night was headed their way, perfect for sitting out on the porch to watch the sunset or maybe toasting marshmallows in their fire-pit.

If anyone had told Dean six years ago he would be living in a log cabin with wind-chimes and a fire-pit, sharing a bed with his husband each night and waking up early to watch him sleep, he probably would have punched you and walked away laughing.

Now, he couldn't imagine a happier life. He, Cas and Sammy had managed to get out of the hunting business almost a year ago. The minute they were out for good, Dean was down on one knee and asking Cas to marry him. By the end of the same day, they were standing in front of the Impala with Sam officiating, and Dean couldn't have planned anything better. They had moved out to the woods after the impromptu wedding and settled down in a three-room cabin built by the three Winchesters themselves. It was small, but much nicer than anything they had before.